


(Don't Let Me Be) The Ghost of You

by ThePancakePenguin



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Dreams vs. Reality, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Goner (Song), It's kind of ambiguous which is which, Late Night Conversations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-05
Updated: 2017-02-05
Packaged: 2018-09-22 06:09:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9587222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePancakePenguin/pseuds/ThePancakePenguin
Summary: Tyler knows something is off as soon as he wakes up.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A tribute of sorts to the end of the Blurryface era
> 
>  
> 
> This work has been edited. I meant to do it ages ago but kinda forgot this existed.

He's not exactly sure what tells him that there’s something wrong; nothing has been moved, it's not unnaturally light or dark, Jenna is fast asleep next to him, her arm thrown over his waist. Usually it's a comforting gesture, especially when his alarm clock reads 2:11 AM, like it is now, but he can just  _feel_ that something is not quite right.

His suspicions are confirmed when he hears the soft ring of piano keys. An eerily familiar chord progression.

He carefully separates himself from his wife and blankets, slipping on a hoodie as he creeps down the stairs to his office. As he gets closer, the pattern and notes change, like whoever is ~~he knows who it is~~ playing them can sense him coming.

The frozen ground outside gleams under the streetlights, reflecting through the window and into his office. The frost on the glass dampens it, giving the room a milky grey glow. Peering through the doorway, he sees a silhouette on the bench, one of their hands on the instrument, mechanically repeating the haunting melody, the other rubbing a red piece of fabric between their muddy fingers. The figure shifts, hunching over more and humming along as they play. The movement looks strange, unnatural, like they aren't used to moving at all.

Tyler suppresses a shudder. No matter how many times he has talked with them, or worked with them, he'll never be able to stop feeling the uncomfortable twist in his gut as he stares at what is essentially his ownbackside, watches his own muscles and bones shift and move in an unnaturally natural way.

The doorframe creaks as he pushes himself off the wood.

The figure stills. The music stops. The low rumble of the heater does nothing to penetrate the tense silence. Tyler doesn't dare move, or breathe. He can't tell if that would hurt or help his current position.

The figure turns their head, the low light shimmering on their dark, painted skin. Tyler can see the outline of their face, _his_ face ~~it's strange to think he has one, considering his name~~ , as he gazes out the window.

"It's snowing."

The apathy and softness in his low voice shocks Tyler more than if he were to turn and scream, violently shake the house and him to their foundations.His confusion grows as the man in front of him continues.

"It was snowing that night too, wasn't it." It isn't meant to be a question. They both remember that night. They also remember the dramatized, filmed version they decided to share with the world.

"I'm surprised you came down here. Honestly, I expected you to ignore me." Blurryface finally turns to face him, scarlet eyes gleaming, lips formed in a slight upturn. "You've changed a lot since then, haven't you? At one point, I had you wrapped around my finger, but whose will is bending to the other's now?"

Tyler huff, relaxing somewhat ~~a first around him~~. "I don't think I'll ever have an answer for you."

Blurry watches Tyler's feet as they move across the carpet. Tyler isn't used to seeing him so.... _submissive_ , for lack of a better word.

"Can I sit with you?" Tyler asks as neutrally as he can manage. Blurry hesitantly scoots over to the lower octaves, curling into himself. Tyler slides onto the bench, keeping a few inches of distance between them. He taps the cold pedals with his feet, observing the relatively clean ivory keys. Whenever he plays, the black paint always rubs off and stains them, whether he's on stage or not. He notices there isn't any fresh paint, meaning Blurryface put effort into keeping them clean, tried to contain himself from spilling over onto the piano. Usually he doesn't care, slamming his hands down onto the instrument. Or maybe he did care, tried to make himself noticeable in every way he could. What if only now is when he doesn't care?

Despite Blurry being part of him, he will probably always remain a mystery to Tyler.

"Are you happy, Tyler?"

Point proven.

Tyler thinks. Is he happy? He's more financially and mentally stable than he's ever been, he's married to the love of his life, his job is travelling around the world with his best friend in the entire universe and doing what he loves for a group of like-minded people that care about him and said best friend. He  _should_ be the happiest man alive, considering all of those things, but  _is he?_ He has all of those things, but at what cost? Blurry is right, he has changed, he's changed a lot from the sixteen year old that played basketball almost obsessively because he thought it was his only chance to get anywhere in the future. Is he really happy with the son, brother, friend, husband,  _person_ he is now? Would him from the past be proud of what he's accomplished? Will him in the future look back to where he is now with little regret? Will his family and friends remain proud of him? Long after he's gone, will the rest of existence think  _'Ah yes, Tyler Joseph, decent guy'_?

"I'm not sure. I think so? There's a lot to consider. Are we talking about  _happiness_ , the fleeting, moment by moment rush, or  _joy_ , the ultimate goal every human being tries to achieve?"

"That's up to you," Blurry mumbles, rubbing the red band on his left hand, not unlike Tyler's nervous tic of fiddling with his wedding ring.

Tyler mulls everything over again, weighing everything before coming to his conclusion.

"Yes. I think I am. I think I am happy." Joy might not be too far away.

Blurry smiles, releasing a long, quiet sigh. "That's good. I'm....glad."

While his tone wasn't insincere, Tyler isn't entirely convinced of that. "Are  _you_ happy, Blurryface?" The full name feels strange, rolling off his tongue. It must make Blurry uncomfortable too, because his smile vanishes, his hands twitch, falling into his lap to squeeze and stretch the red beanie. His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows, rocking back and forth slightly.

"Think about it Tyler; I'm  _you_. If you're happy, I am too."

"But it's not that simple," Tyler presses.

Blurry heaves another sigh, his bright eyes closing. "What am I, Tyler?"

Before the singer can open his mouth, Blurry speaks again. "This isn't me questioning my existence; I'm quite at peace with that. I'm asking you, for your own clarification: what am I?"

Blurry's statement minimally clears his puzzlement. "You are doubt, insecurity, anxiety. You embody all of those things so I and others can work through those issues and turn their energy into something more," he doesn't like where this is going. "...positive."

Blurry nods. "I only exist because of those emotions, those feelings, those  _issues_. Without them, what am I?" While the sour tone is familiar, Tyler isn't sure where it's directed. "Which I guess is the problem. While it may not have been your intention, you've painted me as a villain, a  _burden_ , something  _holding you back_ ," he growls, voice breaking on the last word. "Is that going to be  _my_ legacy? When all is said and all is done, people will care about the things you did, the things you accomplished, But will they care about  _all_ of you? Will they care about me beyond the name of an album, a collection of songs that helped you and Josh become household names?"

He's trembling, eyes wide. "You won't let me be gone, will you?"

Tyler has never seen him more distraught, and can't stop the cold wave of guilt crashing over him. "Of course not Blurry. None of this would have happened with you. Where do you think all those words, all those melodies came from? If I didn't have you, I'd probably be in the NBA, shooting hoops until I couldn't run more than two feet, and be powerless to do anything else but be miserable for the rest of my life. Not only that, but you're an inspiration to so many people. Sure, most interpret you as something they have to conquer, but I guarantee you somebody out there cares just like Josh and I do. When I ask to be saved, when I ask to be remembered, I do it for myself, Josh, and you too, because sometimes you get too choked up to do it for yourself. I tried to show the world who you are, laid myself and Josh bare to help people, not just ourselves." He wraps an arm around Blurry, leaning against him. "And if anything,  _you_ are the famous one. You name has peaked on over a dozen different charts, not mine."

Blurry huffs, but ceases his distressed movements. "Thanks for telling me about this, Blurry. I guess asking people to  _'take him out'_ wasn’t the nicest thing to do to you."

"...yeah." Blurry stares out the window, onto the snowy streets. "I guess I lied a little; I will have to leave."

Tyler jerks away. "What?"

"I'm handing the reins to you again. I'll still be here," he taps Tyler’s forehead, "but it's time for a little change, don't you think?" He reaches over to one of the nearby tables and picks up a long forgotten journal and pen, handing them to Tyler. "You two have some work to do."

Tyler extends his hand. "It's been a real pleasure, Blurryface."

When their hands meet, Tyler pulls him in for a quick hug. Blurry has a genuine smile on his face when he pulls away. He stands from the bench, pulls the beanie over his eyes and leaves Tyler alone in the office.

Tyler sets the journal in his lap, replaying the whole conversation in his mind. He flips the pen in his hand a few time, closes his eyes, and brainstorms.

 

"Tyler?"

He jumps when he feels an hand on his shoulder, eyes flying open. It's brighter outside, the sun shining onto the slushy streets. He shakes his head, trying to clear the sleep from his eyes.

"Babe, have you been here all night?" Jenna wraps a fuzzy blanket around him, brushing messy hair out of her face.

"Yeah, sorry. I had an early meeting, wanted to get some stuff down." He looked down at the capped pen and blank page. "Guess I was only minimally successful."

"Okay. Are you alright?" she asked, always the amazing woman for putting up with him. He grins and hugs her waist, nuzzling her stomach. "Yeah I'm all good. My neck hurts though."

"Well, that's what happens when you fall asleep sitting up." She laughs, rubbing his scalp. "You wanna take a morning nap? It's only 8:00, you've still got time."

"Sounds good." He stands and gives her a morning kiss and heads back to their room, resting his elbows on his knees when he sits.

After rolling his neck and twisting from side to side a few times, he flops down onto his pillow and groans. He pulls his hood over his head and rolls onto his side, trying to block out the lights and songs from early morning birds.

He squints open his eyes and freezes at the sight of black fingertips. He lifts his hand closer to his face, dread previously dripping from his ribcage bubbling into confusion in his stomach. He observes the black lighten into a grey and slowly recede into tan, calloused skin.

He can't help the bittersweet smile that briefly flashes across his face. He understands what the moment truly was.

A goodbye.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you Tyler, Josh, and Blurryface for wonderful music. It's been a huge inspiration for many, including myself.


End file.
